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VERSES 
FROM MANY SEAS 



VERSES 
FROM MANY SEAS 

BY FRED WARNER 
CARPENTER 




PAUL ELDER AND COMPANY 

PUBLISHERS 

SAN FRANCISCO 



C he M3VV 

Copyright, 19 14 ♦ ' ' / 

By Paul Elder and Company 



San Francisco 



DEC II 1914 

>CU387883 



V 



? 



TO MY MOTHER 



O'er this little book of verses, 

I have tried to throw an air 
Of lands I've known, and always loved, 

And some pictures gathered there. 

But the rarest of all treasures, 

That the richest land can give, 

Is as nothing to your love, my dear, 
And with that I now here live. 

So I dedicate this little book, 

*For what it's worth to you, 
With the hope that, when you take it up, 

You will wish to read it through. 

San Francisco, 
September 9, 19 14. 



PROEME 

IT WAS during the last days of Autumn and the 
vineyards of the Riviera were like great fields 
of flaming poppies as the train sped along the 
Mediterranean, crossing thence into Spain and 
running among the orange groves of Valencia, 
and on to Seville with its lacework palaces, its 
cathedral, and its olive groves. One could almost 
see the figures of the white-robed Moors sitting 
about the fountains as they used to do before the 
campaigns of Ferdinand and Isabella; and as I have 
seen them doing today in their palaces in Tetuan, 
near the summit of the mountains in North 
Africa. The city glistens like the foam on the 
seashore as one sees it against the blue African 
sky. And then I sometimes wrote verses giving 
pi&ures of places I've known and what they meant 
to me. For places and palaces and houses, as one 
sees them in retrospect, have an atmosphere as 
distinct and elusive as have people. 

But, as I thought of the pictures, there was al- 
ways one which stood out among the happiest 
memories of my life, and that was my association 
with our President, William Howard Taft, and 
so I wrote these verses : 

Here's just a little tribute 

To our work and play, 
Through the many years of life, 

Which now seem but a day. 

In the far-off Philippines, 

In China, and Japan, 
Russia, Rome, and Washington, 

The flower of our land. 

[K] 



PROEME • Continued 

Then, when you were President, 
The days were full of care; 

But you firmly held the rudder, 

Whether winds blew foul or fair. 

And Time, which mellows all things, 
Will bring the day again, 

When the people all will realize 
How much you did for them. 

San Francisco, 
1914. 



[x] 



CONTENTS 



Proeme . 


, . ix 


The Robert Louis Stevenson Memorial . 


3 


War 


4 


From My Study . 


5 


San Francisco . 


6 


Memories ...... 


7 


Dolce Far Niente . 


8 


The Golden Gate Fishermen . 


9 






The White House . . • . 


12 


The Camel Caravan 


13 


A Moorish Garden . 


H 


The Moorish Sentinel . 


15 


The Gardens of Youth 


16 


The Christ Child 


*7 


A Seville Fountain 


18 


The Seville Cathedral . 


19 


Venice ..... 


20 


The Ghost of the Palazzo Fontana, Venice 


1 21 


Notre Dame Cathedral in Paris 


22 


Malacanan Palace, Manila 


23 


An Oriental Villa 


24 


Bangkok, Siam .... 


25 


Li Hung Chang .... 


26 


Life ...... 


27 



[XI] 



VERSES 
FROM MANY SEAS 



THE ROBERT LOUIS 
STEVENSON MEMORIAL 

IN PORTSMOUTH SQUARE 

"The smelting pot of the races," 

You called our city of old, 
As we looked out through the Golden Gate 

Toward the Far East, tinged with gold. 

From the South Seas came her cargoes, 
From Europe, and India's strand, 

While men from all the nations 

Flocked to the new-found land. * 

But the shrine of all our memories, 

Of the city that is no more, 
Is a golden galleon sailing 

Toward a distant, dreamy shore. 

'Tis your golden ship of fancy, 

With those Christmas words below, 

Bearing all the love for human kind 
That a heart like yours could know. 

San Francisco, 
August 13, 1914. 



[3] 



WAR 

We build cathedrals with spires that 

pierce the sky; 
We fill them full of rich stained glass; 

but why? 
With music great, that stirs men's souls, 

and then 
w Peace on Earth" we sing, "Good will 

toward men—" 
And plunge to battle, like a lot of savage 

hordes, 
And fight and kill, and stand men up 

like boards 
To shoot at. And this is patriotism 

and needs must be! 
Should I, a ruler— should any man be free 
Such great, inhuman, awful things to do, 
And claim the country's good demands 

it, of a few, 
To save one people from a Christian 

brother's knife? 
Ah no! Twenty centuries of Christian life 
Should end such legalized and barbarous 

strife. 
The day has passed when other thoughts 

were rife. 



San Francisco, 
September 8, 19 14. 



[4] 



FROM MY STUDY 

From my windows Sutro's Forest, 
Limned against the eastern sky, 

Velvety with eucalyptus, 

Rises gracefully on high, 

'Gainst which houses hurl their outlines, 
Wooden, painted, half-awry. 

'Tis a San Francisco suburb, 

Vacant lots, and all the rest, 
Window boxes, wild with color, 

Flower-decked sand dunes toward the west; 
Cold winds blow from off the ocean— 

These are landscapes I love best. 

San Francisco, 
September 9, 19 14. 



[5] 



SAN FRANCISCO 

A wonderful pi&ure city 

Looks out of the Golden Gate; 
She stands upon her many hills 

And guards in lonely state. 

And she's grown from a heap of ashes 

In what seems scarce a day, 
A memory of her Argonauts, 

And the pride of the western bay. 

And her life is full of color, 

Some gleaned from the Orient's shore, 
Some gleaned from the sun and the western 
winds, 

And the hope they ever bore. 

For she looks away to the great Far East, 
And she bounds our farthest west 

With the spirit still of the mission days 
And the land they've ever blessed. 

Tangier, Morocco, 
November 10, 191 1. 



[6] 



MEMORIES 

Sometimes, when the fire is lighted, 

And the shades have been drawn for 
the night, 

I sit and watch the shadows 

Chased by fancies in their flight. 

And the mellow tone of the bindings 

Of the books IVe read now and again, 

The glow from the frames of the portraits 
Of my beloved among women and men. 

I can see them all wending their journeys: 
Some to happiness, some to success, 

Some to sorrow, from pain or misfortune; 
Who can yet say whose work is the best? 

Then the lamps are brought in and lighted 
And my dreams fly swiftly away; 

But I love Life the more for such memories, 
They're the Angelus Call of the day. 

San Francisco, 
August 27, 19 14. 



[7] 



DOLCE FAR NIENTE 

Tiny waves upon the seashore, 
Of a leaden, steel-gray hue, 

Clouds as low as Sutro's garden, 
Flowers as wet as with the dew. 

Then the breeze springs up abruptly, 
Sweeps the clouds at once away, 

Brightly dancing is the ocean, 
In a flash all life is gay. 

Moods, as changing as the seashore, 

Follow us upon our ways; 
Sometimes it's a flower's perfume 

Brings before us other days. 

Sometimes it's an air of music 

Whisks us off to distant lands, 

And for just one passing moment, 

We dance upon those other strands. 

So the myriads of pi&ures, 
In the album of the mind, 

Change, as Nature turns the pages, 
Thus, the Gods are ever kind. 



San Francisco, 
September 9, 19 14. 



[8] 



THE GOLDEN GATE 
FISHERMEN 

Sometimes with a splash of golden hues, 
Youth gives only foreign lands, 

I'm carried in fancy home again, 
To San Francisco's strands. 

And I see the morning sunshine, 

As it gilds, from the fishermen's pier, 

The little ships that sail away, 

Through the Golden Gate each year. 

They fish from the early morning hours 

Till the setting of the sun, 
Then sail back home, all wet with spray, 

And a long day's work well done. 

It's a pi&ure of color and earnest life, 
It's a pi&ure of hope of gain, 

That has filled each soul since time began, 
And will do so again and again. 

Seville, Spain, 
O&ober 29, 1911. 



[9] 



A CABINET MINISTER'S 
VISION 

A Cabinet Minister's window stood open 
One morning in spring-time, a few years 
now past; 
'Twas in Washington, born of the kiss of 
the southland, 
And the magnolia odors brought all 
back at last. 

He saw her float gently into his great office, 
Her hair it was gray, not with powder 
as of yore, 
And her dress was as white as a lily in 
blossom, 
And the scent of a garden in Charleston 
it bore. 

w You remember," she murmured, "a party in 
Charleston, 
*°Twas far in the suburbs before the 
great war, 
w And you called in to get me with horse 
and with carriage, 
"But we mired in a mud-hole before 
driving far." 



[10] 



"Ah yes," said the Minister, "Could I ever 
forget it? 
"So I unhitched the horse and placed 
you on before, 
"And we went to the party that night in 
the spring-time, 
"And we danced till the morning lit up 
the ball floor." 

Then the vision it vanished, as vanish all 
day dreams; 
The newspaper was finished, the day's 
work had begun, 
But through callers and problems that day 
in that city, 
The Minister's gray hairs seemed tinged 
by the sun. 

Seville, Spain, 
O&ober 30, 191 1. 



I"] 



THE WHITE HOUSE 

Emblem of our Nation's greatness, 
Simple, stately, full of charm, 

Gathered from our old-time southland, 
May it e'er be free from harm. 

Brave men's portraits, and fair women, 
Those we've loved to honor most, 

Hang about its spacious hallways, 
Even now, a goodly host. 

Fragrant the magnolia blossoms 

When the spring is at its height, 

And the fountains in the garden 
Mingle with the dews of night. 

Silhouetted 'gainst its landscape, 
Stands the monument sublime, 

First of Presidents it honors, 

And our Country for all time. 



San Francisco, 
September 5, 19 14. 



[12] 



THE CAMEL CARAVAN 

In Tangier, in far Morocco, 
O'er my villa walls, I see 

Winding caravans of camels, 

Like silent shadows passing me. 

And they have a look as ageless 

As the Desert, whence they came, 

Eyes that gaze into the future, 
Where all ages are the same. 

Is it strange that they are silent, 
Like the pyramids of old? 

Centuries of thankless labor 
Is their one and only goal. 

San Francisco, 
September 23, 19 14. 



[13] 



A MOORISH GARDEN 

On a sandy beach is a garden wild, 

Of palms and cypress and flowers rare, 

While fountains play with wistaria vines, 
In a mystical lacework as light as air. 

So exotic a garden scarce seems of this world, 
Though its paths run straight and wide; 

And peacocks wander amid its shades, 

While one hears the soft swish of the tide. 

But at night, when the moonlight mellows 

The garish light of the day, 
Comes the long, half-sad, half-weeping note 

Of the nightingale's tender lay. 

Tangier, Morocco, 
November 8, 191 1. 



[14] 



THE MOORISH 
SENTINEL 

On a lithe, white steed, in a Moorish gate, 

Deep set, Moresco and blue, 
Sat a white-robed Moor, in lonely state, 

And he watched the whole night through. 

And the moon came up, and the stars 
came out, 
And the heavens seemed very near, 
And the bells of the shepherd's flocks were 
heard, 
As they rang in the air so clear. 

And again and again, as the night went on, 

The Muezzin's call rang out; 
But the Moor and the steed were there at 
dawn, 

And the enemy turned about. 

Tangier, Morocco, 
November 16, 191 1. 



[15] 



THE GARDENS OF 
YOUTH 

In dreams some fairy Ariel 

Wafted me off one day 
To the gardens of everlasting youth, 

Where the little children play. 

There one forgot all other worlds, 

Forgot all other cares, 
While we gathered gold from the 
rainbow's rays, 

And floated on the rainbow's airs. 

And we passed above great orange 
groves, 

And magical cities could see, 
With elfin chariots of burnished gold, 

Borne along by the zephyrs free. 

Tangier, Morocco, 
November 21, 19 1 1 . 



[16] 



THE CHRIST CHILD 

Again and again, I've stood alone 

In the great North African night, 

Not a sound was heard in its mystic calm, 
And the stars alone shed light. 

'Twas on such nights in ages past, 

Great Phoebus and the Gods of then, 

In golden chariots whirled through space 
With a light that blinded men. 

Until one night in Bethlehem, 

They vanished like the mists at morn, 
For Christ had come to guide the world, 

In a simple manger born. 

Tangier, Morocco, 
November 25, 1911. 



M 



A SEVILLE FOUNTAIN 

There's a dull-tiled fountain singing, 
In a garden half-grown wild, 

Where the Moors of old Granada, 
While in Seville, life beguiled. 

Nightingales now sing their carols 
'Mid the flowers, fig and vine, 

While the lacework, plaster palace, 
Crumbles with the lapse of time. 

But, for years and years, the waters 
Of the fountain as it flows, 

Sing the love songs of a people, 

Filled with all their hopes and woes. 

San Francisco, 
August 18, 19 14. 



[18] 



THE 
SEVILLE CATHEDRAL 

I wandered, one day at an early hour, 

On the streets of long-dreamed-of Seville, 
'Twas a Sunday morning in Autumn, 
And the air was so soft and still 

There scarce seemed a sign of life in the place, 
And one drank in its mystery to fill. 

'Tis a land that was made for dreaming, 
With its orange and olive trees, 

With its worn-out streets and palaces, 

With its gardens and fountains that please 

Those who love Andalusia's clime, 

And her glorious beauties would seize. 

I stood in the great cathedral, 

'Midst its chapels, its domes and its shrines, 
Its fine old stained glass windows, 

Its Murillos, and heard its chimes, 
And the rich-toned organ was pealing forth 

An Ave Maria sublime. 

And I breathed for hours its beauty, 

And thought of what dreamers had done 

To conceive such a work of genius, 
What courage to have it begun; 

They had spent their days for a Higher 
Power, 
And the faith of its builders had won. 



Tangier, Morocco, 
November 3, 191 1. 



[19] 



VENICE 

Who can pidure now in fancy, 
Venice in her days of glory? 

When the Doges ruled an empire, 
There were none that could deny. 

When her palaces so stately, 

With their gothic doors and windows, 
Were arrayed in finest colors 

For a fete of martial pride. 

But she's bended now, though lovely, 
And each day that passes by 

Gives her added grace and beauty, 
'Neath the blue Italian sky. 



Tangier, Morocco, 
November 5, 19x1. 



[20] 



THE GHOST OF THE 

PALAZZO FONTANA, 

VENICE 

In a gothic palace lonely, 
Where the Grand Canal has only, 
Now and then, a flickering light 
The wandering gondolier to guide, 
Dwells a ghost, 
Who's always pounding, 
With a noise of sandbag sounding, 
And in clouds of dust surrounding 
All who ever pass the night. 
" Aren't you ever, ever going?" 
Sighed a tenant in his woe; 
But the old-time clad Venetian spedre 
Slowly, sadly answered "No". 
"With apologies to Poe, 
"Most abjed and all-pervading, 
"Long withheld, but now parading, 
"Apologies to Poe." 
While the spedre then did vanish, 
But the echo whispered "No". 

Tangier, Morocco, 
November 10, 19 14. 



[21] 



NOTRE DAME 
CATHEDRAL IN PARIS 

Away down by the Seine, it stands, 
Imposing, stained with years, 

Gay, bubbling Paris, it has watched, 
And has felt a Nation's tears. 

As the sunshine o'er the chancel 
Lights at morn the stained glass 
warm, 

Outside, Paris surges always, 

With its human life and charm. 

Ah, ye great cathedral builders, 

When your day comes back again, 

With its rich stained glass and music, 
May peace reign forever then. 

San Francisco, 
September 14, 19 14. 



[22] 



MALACANAN PALACE, 
MANILA 

There's a spreading, rambling palace, 
Somewhere in the Seven Seas, 

'Midst the green of tropic rice fields, 
And the flaming eastern trees. 

'Tis a palace that was builded 

With an old-time style and grace, 

And has Spanish grandees' portraits 
Hanging all about the place. 

And now, in its age and beauty, 
The dull Pasig still flows by, 

With its little Filipino boats, 

Still tinged by the Eastern sky. 

Tangier, Morocco, 
November 6, 191 z. 



[23] 



AN ORIENTAL VILLA 

Fve a villa near a forest, 

Of the slender betel palm, 

Feathery pines, from far Australia, 

Break with songs the Eastern calm, 

And gardenias' heavy perfume 
Are a nightly soothing balm. 

While the breezes soft are singing, 
Temple bells are always ringing, 
Priests in yellow robes are bringing 
Peace to Oriental qualms. 

And in far Siam, this villa 

Spreads about its blessed shade, 

Klongs with tides are always changing 
Highways for the country's trade; 

May the progress of its people 
And traditions never fade. 



San Francisco, 
September 3, 19 14. 



M 



BANGKOK, SIAM 

There's a tropic, tree-lined city, 

Far in Siam, where of old, 
Boats alone gave means of access 

To the temples, roofed with gold. 

Now the tamarind trees are growing 
On the hand-made roads so wide, 

And medallion-crested bridges 

Span the klongs, the people's pride. 

Sacred elephants with trappings, 
Emblem of the ancient state, 

Stand at garden parties royal, 
Guarding still the palace gate. 

Cawing crows about are flying 
In the sacred temple groves, 

On the eaves, the bells are hanging, 

Ringing with each breeze that blows. 

While the peaceful face of Buddha, 
God of that Far Eastern life, 

Teaches that this earth's a whirlpool, 
Filled with passion and with strife. 

But today this ancient kingdom 

Is with modern progress thrilled, 

Though its inward life is always 
With its own traditions filled. 



San Francisco, 
August 28, 19 1 4. 



[25] 



LI HUNG CHANG 

Mighty statesman of a country, 

Which our minds can never grasp, 

I often wonder if you know 

How much you've answered that we ask; 

In the wisdom of your Memoirs, 

'Twas your days' most joyous task. 

As your life unfolds before us, 

Filled with all its ups and downs, 

While you've seen your Empire prostrate, 
And have braved an Empress' frowns, 

You have saved your country's honor, 
Keeping nations within bounds. 

There are men for every crisis, 

Trained for ages for that day; 
Sometimes they are learned statesmen, 

Sometimes sages. Who can say? 
You were all, and yet a poet, 

With reflections grave and gay. 



San Francisco, 
September 21, 19 14. 



[26] 



LIFE 

Worlds by thousands through space flying, 
Music make that stirs the soul, 

Like the passing of great Empires, 
And of peoples to their goal. 

Life is here so short and fleeting, 
Filled with sorrow, pain, despair, 

And one man can know so little, 
Oh how little of what's there! 

Is it what he knows that matters? 

What he feels is what makes life; 
Ever passing are the nations 

Blind with fury and with strife. 

San Francisco, 
O&ober 21, 1914. 



[27] 



HERE ENDS SOME VERSES WRITTEN 
FROM TIME TO TIME BY FRED WARNER 
CARPENTER AS HE WANDERED ABOUT 
THE WORLD, WHICH HE IS GLAD TO 
SEE DONE INTO A BOOK BY PAUL 
ELDER AND COMPANY, IN THE CITY 
OF SAN FRANCISCO; AND THE MAK- 
ING OF THE BOOK, THE PRINTING OF 
IT AT THE TOMOYE PRESS, AND THEN 
THE BINDING WAS UNDER THE CARE 
AND EFFICIENCY OF JOHN BERN- 
HARDT SWART. PUBLISHED ON THE 
FIFTEENTH DAY OF THE MONTH OF 
NOVEMBER IN THE YEAR NINETEEN 
HUNDRED AND FOURTEEN. 






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